


Impregnation

by Steena



Series: The pound 'verse [8]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Complicated Relationships, Dreadbot being an aft, Fluff and Angst, HEA, Humor, Mech Preg, Slavery, Surprise pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:38:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 11,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/pseuds/Steena
Summary: In which Barricade starts to put on weight. But is it really that simple?Sequel to Inauguration.





	1. Barricade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maderi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maderi/gifts).



The first time it happened, he didn’t think much of it. But then it happened again a few days later. And then again. Barricade gets the cube almost to the point where his lip-plates touch the edge of it, just to gag when the smell reaches his olfactory sensors.  

It’s confusing, because while he hasn’t been starving for a long time, he has never felt this put off by fuel. It isn’t that the level in his tank is too high either, as if he had binged on fuel. No, it’s definitely the smell of it. 

It doesn’t make any sense at all, just like the way his intake starting to lubricate from just  _looking_  at the crude oil enriched cubes doesn’t make any sense.  _He never liked those before._

“Mornin ‘Cade.” Jazz murmurs close to his audial, arms snaking around the Interceptor.

Barricade flinches, because he didn’t notice that the Spy snuck up on him when he stood there, dawdling over if he should really pour the opened cube down the drain.  _It feels wrong to waste untouched cubes that Jazz has generously provided, but leaving an opened one in the cooler would raise questions he has no answers to._

“Sorry love, did I scare ya?” Jazz’s voice is a rough purr that sends thrills down his spinal strut.

“Yeah, I didn’t notice you coming in. Here, I opened a cube.” Barricade says, and tells himself that the omission isn’t a lie.  _He doesn’t want to unnecessarily worry Jazz. He isn’t sick. Just a temporary glitch. Jazz can have the cube, and he will have one of those with crude oil._

“Ya’re so sweet.” Jazz murmurs, and then he grabs the cube Barricade is holding up.

The Solstice's other servo slides down Barricade’s front, to his lower ventral plating, and it feels so good, but it also reminds Barricade of something else, something most unwelcome. 

_He needs to void his tank. Again._  

“I… uhm… hold the thought? I need to do my morning maintenance…” Barricade trails off, slightly embarrassed for some reason.

“I’ll hold the thought that ya’re sweet forever, honey.” Jazz chuckles and lets go of the Saleen.

Barricade hurries into the washracks and goes into the maintenance room. He sits down on the chute in a hurry, holding his vents.  _The damned air freshener they have in here seems to have become more pungent, hasn’t it? Ugh._


	2. Barricade

“Are you refueling  _again_?” Dreadbot asks, optical ridge raised. 

Barricade glances at his cube for a split second, before he turns a glare at the other Decepticon.  _It’s just his fourth cube for the day, it’s not_ that _much. And those crude oil ones, topped with a fluffed glob of lithium grease are just downright irresistible._

“Yeah, so  _what?_ ” He growls, pointedly taking another swig of his fuel.

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t care if you don’t care. About you  _filling out_ , I mean...”

The fluffed grease sticks to the inside of his intake.  _He isn’t getting chubby, is he?_

_“Shut up_!” Barricade snarls, servo going to his waistline of it’s own accord.

Dreadbot grins and grabs his own abdominal protoform through his ridiculous, skin tight, full body suit in spandex, with Deadpool print, or rather shows his  _absence_  of pudgy protoform to grab. “Just a few extra pounds for Jazz to love. I’m sure he could use you as one of those stress balls you’re supposed to knead to relax.” Dreadbot teases.

Barricade flips him the bird and heads for the washracks, where they have a big mirror, and a door he can lock to keep the smug asshole out. Standing in front of the mirror, he takes careful stock of his frame.  _Maybe his waist doesn’t seem as marked as before?_ The seams in his plating does seem a little wider if he looks closely...

He inspects his plating, and flares it to get a better look at his protoform.  _Maybe he_  has  _gained some weight?_  The protoform around his abdomen catches his optics, clearly looking less tight than before.  _Oh, Primus he is getting fatter, isn’t he?_  But of course it might happen. He isn’t being starved anymore, and he isn’t very active physically, staying indoors and keeping occupied with things that leaves him sitting a lot.

_Or is this his normal weight? Has he been so emaciated, his normal weight has started to look like “fat” to him? It isn’t impossible, his last owners kept him running on fumes…_

Barricade grabs his cube and heads for the room he shares with Dreadbot, since that asshole is still lounging on the couch in the living room.

“There ain’t no wings on a pachyderm, you’re too fat to fly, there ain’t no wings on a barnyard pig, you’re too fat to fly, and there ain’t no wings on your big ass, and there ain’t no wonder why…” Dreadbot sings as Barricade passes, and the Saleen flips him off again.

It’s probably nothing to think much about, it’s perfectly natural to not look like a starving wreck now that he isn’t one anymore. But Barricade is going to keep an optic on it. He’s not going to get fatter than this.


	3. Barricade

_So much for keeping an optic on things_. Barricade steps out of the shower and faces his own reflection in the mirror. The plating around his waist has started to flare of it’s own accord, the seams around his hips and thighs have widened slightly. Even his shoulder-wings look a little thicker. 

_He’s getting fat!_

Barricade stifles a sob.

_Jazz will never find him attractive like this, he’s a racer, he should be streamlined and sleek. Not… this!_

The Saleen’s tank grumbles when he walks past the refueling room, but he ignores it.  _His levels are over thirty percent, there’s absolutely no need for him to gorge himself until he’s so fat, he’s turning into a ball._

It’s a good thing that Jazz doesn’t check his levels anymore, that the Spy trusts him to take care of himself, because Barricade allows his levels to go down to a measly three percent, and he holds them there for several weeks. He starts a new routine, moving around as much as possible, walking back and forth in the apartment whenever he can without his pacing raising too many questions. He engages in stereotype behaviors, like rocking back and forth while sitting down, or walking in place when he’s waiting for the energon heater to get done, just to keep himself from being too sedentary. 

It doesn’t really help. Sure, his weight gain seems to stop, but he doesn’t get any slimmer. And in the end, he’s forced to start refueling a little bit more. Onset of bouts of dizziness, and distressed warnings in his CPU has him allowing himself to climb to between ten and fifteen percent. If he falls into reboot, Jazz would check his systems, and it would get so awkward to try to explain things.

_But what if Jazz finds him disgusting, being a little fatso?_   _What if Jazz stops wanting him, and goes for his other lovers instead?_  There’s always the hulking,  _but ripped_  Weapons specialist, or the slender, yet powerful Sniper.  _Even the skinny Decepticon Hippie van, with his heroin chick, rock star protoform, mostly wrapped up in a spandex suit, leaving nothing to the imagination._

Even with all he has been through, never even in his wildest imagination did Barricade think that the most disgusting thing about him would be him turning into a little piggy.

 


	4. Barricade

The first times Dreadbot tumbled into someone else’s berth, Barricade was thrilled to get him out of the house, and when Dreadbot kept coming and going, spending the night here and there, it became an everyday thing the Interceptor didn’t have any problems getting used to. He enjoyed having Jazz to himself all the more, of course. 

Now though, he wishes Dreadbot would stay at home more. Or that Jazz’s other lovers were more insistent on getting attention. Normally, he’d enjoy the casual touches, and more often than not, it would get them into a berth.  _If they even made it that far._ But now, he has to force himself to not cringe away from the loving caresses, the meaningful squeezes.

He has not lost any weight at all, and every time the Saleen feels Jazz’s servos on his frame, he’s reminded of how much bigger and softer that part is. He tries to be subtle about extracting himself from Jazz’s hugs and pets.  _It’s just until he manages to slim down a bit again._

So the next time Dreadbot comes home, he actually doesn’t mind when the world’s (and he isn’t going to specify  _which_  world, because it might very well be several) most annoying Hippie van slips out of his fluffy, pink onesie to parade around the apartment in yet another spandex suit, this one so tight it almost… no, not almost, it does indeed show some camel toe.  _Good. There’s no way Jazz will have time to pay attention to his flabby aft when that is so blatantly displayed_.

And the first night, he happily allows Dreadbot to share Jazz’s berth, relieved to have the attention swung from him.  _Even if it stings a little that Dreadbot seems to stay skinny and hot so easily, and that the Saleen has drawn the short straw yet again, turning into an unattractive tub of fluff, which Dreadbot helpfully reminds him of at every opportunity he gets, by humming that horrible too-fat-to-fly song._  Barricade manages to push down his sobs, swallows the lump in his throat, bottom lip-plate trembling every time, but he knows that Dreadbot sees it, and thus the other Decepticon doesn’t stop. He even does it when Jazz is around, and Barricade is hoping that the Spy doesn’t know what song it is, because if he does, he might not be stopping Dreadbot because he  _agrees,_  and that thought is just sparkbreaking.

Then the second evening, Crosshairs comes to visit. Dreadbot flirts with the Paratrooper, and Crosshairs responds. Barricade tries to wrap his helm around how that would work, since both mechs prefer to use their valves, and none of them are all that dominant. The images in his helm are rather enticing, making his valve go slick, throbbing for a tongue to wriggle inside.  _Or a spike_. The way Crosshairs field is flaring with arousal, rolling out to smother them all as Dreadbot and the Corvette get increasingly handsy with each other is not helping either.

The Saleen is so horny, so very ready, he just wants to throw himself on Jazz’s berth, and spread his legs for the Spy, wants to open his chest-plates an let his sparkmate have him in every way.

Digits caress his shoulder-wing, tweaks the brackets at the base of the component with practiced ease, hitting all the sensitive spots just so, another servo sliding down Barricade’s arm. The Saleen tears his optics from the couple making out on the couch to glance at Jazz over his shoulder. The Spy smirks at him, and Barricade leans into the touch, wanting more,  _so much more_.

Jazz’s digits curl around his hip and Barricade follows the light urging, arching his back to grind his aft against the Autobot’s pelvic plating.  _He could do it right here, he’s that horny._  A wanton mewl leaves his intake. Jazz kisses the base of his other shoulder-wing, nips and licks as he lets his servo slide down Barricade’s side.

Then the Solstice slides both his servos to splay over Barricade’s ventral plating, thumbs slipping into seams to caress his flabby protoform.

_It’s like a freezing cold shower, the way he’s suddenly all too aware of how those thumbs press into his soft protoform, the way his plating is flared to allow room for his swollen abdomen. Disgusting, looking more and more like one of those potbellied hogs on Earth._ Suddenly he’s aware of every piece of him that’s more pudgy than it was before, how his fat aft is cushioning the way Jazz’s pelvis is grinding against him, and his burning charge dissipates so quickly it seems impossible.  _He has to get Jazz’s servos away from him, before the Spy realizes how gross he’s getting, before Jazz decides to drop him like the disgusting tub of lard he is._

He breaks free with sudden force, as if Jazz was holding him against his will, and he turns to face the Spy. Jazz’s servos are still hanging mid-air, surprise written on his face-plates.

“Why don’t you go join  _those two_ , instead of using me as an outlet for your sex drive? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” Barricade snaps.

“I… what? No! Barricade, what are ya talkin’ ‘bout?” For once, Jazz seems at a loss for what to say.

“They start pawing at each other, fields sticking to us like syrup, and all of a sudden, you can’t keep it behind your panel anymore. Or your hands to yourself. Stop pawing at me all the time!”

“Come on, ya’re bein’ unfair. Sure, their fields are enticin’, but I want ya regardless. It has nothin’ ta do with their activities. N’ ya never told me ya don’t want me ta touch ya anymore.”

“Unfair?! You just fuck anybot even hinting at an offer, no matter what size or color, or faction, because you’re horny all the time!”

“I wouldn’t hafta fuck anybody else if ya jus’ put out a li’l more often, now would I?!” 

As soon as it’s out, Jazz claps a servo over his intake. They both fall silent, Barricade on the verge of crying.  _Of course he can’t make Jazz happy. He’s fat and ugly, and disgusting, and when he just can’t bring himself to have sex with Jazz,_ _even if he’s craving it himself, then that’s wrong too._

“You’re such a fucking slut.” Barricade growls, storming away.  _Not fleeing._

“You didn’ complain all tha times I made ya overload!” Jazz shouts after him.

“Frag you!” Barricade screams just before the door to his and Dreadbot’s room slams shut behind him.

It’s muffled, but he hears the door to Jazz’s room slam shut too.


	5. Jazz

_What. The. Fuck?_

One second, Barricade is leaning into his touches, field open and wanton, the next, he shuts down and all but bites his helm off? Jazz knows that the Interceptor craves him, that much’s clear, and still the Saleen asks him to get his servos away, accuses him of being  _easy_  of all things.

_He knows that he has several lovers, that he sleeps around. It has never put Barricade off, though_ … The Saleen has never doubted that Jazz wants him for being him, not just for being handily available.

It isn’t the first time this has happened lately, when Jazz thinks about it. Barricade has been tense under his servos for a few weeks, but he has slipped away so smoothly, Jazz never thought more about it. Now it’s glaringly obvious, the way the Interceptor has avoided the casual touches they usually share in the day to day life.

Their lovemaking has been very much “wham, bam, thank you mech”, not much of the soft touches to the entire frame, the slow caresses of worship they usually share. Whenever he has tried, Barricade has hurried things along, diving straight for sucking Jazz’s cock or something like that, and most of all, the Mustang has been spiking him almost every time they fuck.

Not that Jazz is complaining about that, he enjoys being spiked, and Barricade is still a considerate lover, makes sure it’s good for Jazz too.  _Maybe that’s why he haven’t noticed the change earlier?_  He hasn’t gotten pussy from Barricade for… well, it’s a  _long_  time, and when Barricade spikes him, it’s never in a very intimate position. Come to think of it, Barricade has banged him doggy style, has fucked him against the wall, and Jazz has done the reverse cowgirl. What’s lacking is the sweet lovemaking they engaged in in the beginning, and he hasn’t even noticed, because the Saleen has fucked him really thoroughly, and then slipped off to have a shower, and Jazz has always fallen into recharge before he got back. Then the Interceptor got up before him, as usual, so Jazz didn’t even notice if he spent the night or not.

No, he hasn’t really thought about it before, but now, it’s glaringly obvious.  _And he is_ _definitely not going to let it slip. He’s going to figure it out._


	6. Jazz

Jazz doesn’t sleep well with everything running through his helm, so for the first time since the very beginning, way back when Barricade was still healing and very tired, he’s first up in the morning. Crosshairs is dead asleep on the couch, snoring lightly. Two of Dreadbot’s optics onlines blearily as the Spy walks by the living room, the two mechs tangled with each other, and a blanket.

 The Solstice leans against the counter as the energon heater does it’s magic.

“Morning, Jazz.” Dreadbot says, heading for the cupboards with the cupper crackers, grabbing the tungsten grease from the cooler as he passes.

“Mornin’, Dreadbot.” Jazz says absentmindedly, staring at the energon heater.

That’s when Barricade steps into the refueling room. Jazz can’t help but stare at the Interceptor. He has finally managed to put on some weight, and now he’s getting to a point where he looks absolutely ridiculously cuddle friendly.  _No, not_ cuddly.  _The Saleen is so fragging hot, Jazz wants to grab him, bend him over the table, and just fuck him until they both are completely silly._ His spike knocks against the cover, and he groans inwardly.

“Mornin’, Cade.” The Solstice murmurs, and damn it if he doesn’t sound a little sleazy.

Barricade nods to him, looking almost shy in his discomfort.

_So, still not on speaking terms._

Jazz heaves a vent.

_He better take care of this hard-on that’s threatening to burst out of his panel._ He swallows the burning hot energon in quick gulps, feeling it sear his tubing all the way down to his tank, then he heads for the washracks for a decent jerk off, and a cold shower.

“You forgot the wide load sign on your ass.” Dreadbot whispers. “I love ‘em chunky - chunky, chunky, I love ‘em plumpy – plumpy, plumpy…” The Microbus sings, dancing around in a way that belongs somewhere on a stage with a pole in the center.

“Stop it!” Jazz growls.

Dreadbot looks incredibly caught when Jazz whips around to stare at the Hippie van. He probably didn’t think Jazz would hear him.

“I-I… I’m  _sorry_ , I just…”

“No, just stop. Barricade is finally refueling well, and I will  _not_  let ya ruin healthy habits with toxic comments like that.” Jazz bites out, voice like a whip.

Dreadbot nods, clearly taken aback by how angry Jazz is.  _Good._ Satisfied with dealing with that, Jazz heads for the washracks, longing to scratch that itch.


	7. Barricade

They’re spooning, and Barricade can feel Jazz’s hard cock rubbing against his aft. He arches his back, lifts his leg to give the Spy access, and that ridged length slides home into his slick valve. The Saleen shudders in pleasure, already close to overload.

“You’re so gorgeous.” Jazz murmurs in his audial.

There’s a strange incongruence when the Solstice slaps his aft, and it breaks through his arousal, confuses him.

“Wake up, you manatee, and get your fat ass into gear!” Another slap lands against his aft, the blanket keeping it from stinging.

The Mustang onlines his optics.  _Dreadbot. But of course…_  At least the blanket is covering that Barricade’s panel has opened of it’s own accord. He wishes he could finish with his digits, get rid of the charge, but the Microbus is insistent: they have to go right now.

“Mornin’, Cade. Ya slept in, but we hafta go now.” Jazz says, holding their collars. “Ya still ok with this?”

Barricade nods, accepting when Jazz puts the new collar and leash on. It will keep them safe from a repeat of that awful time at the market. Jazz bought the best of the best, lined with soft metal mesh, adorned with crystals and etchings to match their plating. His panel is locked open, but if the others see the lubricant glistening along his slit, how puffy his valve-lips are, they don’t comment, and he’s thankful for that.

It’s a short walk to the transport, and as usual, Jazz has timed it perfectly: they don’t have to wait long for the transport to show up. Jazz finds a seat, and Barricade sinks down on the floor next to the Autobot’s pede, Dreadbot taking the other side. If the mechs of his household failed to notice his arousal, the other mechs on the transport make up for it, the Interceptor can see the way they stare at his primed array. He stiffens when a mech takes a seat behind him, but he doesn’t turn around.

“That’s quite a fine little Con you have here, all chubby and soft. You hire him out?”

Barricade feels energon rise to the back of his intake, but he trusts Jazz to not agree with something like that.

“No, he’s mine, and I don’ like sharin’.” Jazz says, voice cold.

“Aaw, come on! He’s already primed and ready.”

A pede comes around him, slides up between his thighs, a heel rubbing against his array. From the corner of his optics, he can see Dreadbot’s bright optics, and the disgusted and shocked grimace the Hippie van can’t quite hide.

“I said…” Jazz growls, and then the other mech howls. “…he’s  _mine,_  N’ I don’ share.”

Barricade glances back over his shoulder and sees energon running down the mech’s leg as other passengers drag him away from the seat. He catches the stained blade before it slips into one of Jazz’s subspace pockets.  _Jazz stabbed the mech to protect him!_

In his surprise, he loses the hold he has had on his bond, and for the first time in a while, he catches a glimpse of Jazz’s emotions.

The Spy is appalled that he failed to protect Barricade, and he is furious that someone would do something like that.

Barricade is so happy that Jazz is so protective of him, surprised that the Solstice actually would go as far as stabbing a Bot to protect him, and he leans against the Spy’s leg, pressing in to show his gratitude in the only way he can in public, their pulled in fields mingling where they have physical contact. Jazz’s servo hesitantly pets his helm, and Barricade presses into that touch, hungry for it after so long trying to avoid contact as much as he can.


	8. Barricade

They arrive at Ironhide’s place without any further incidents, and Jazz unlocks their panels and removes the collars. Barricade’s tank is rumbling again, and he heads for the refueling room, where Ironhide hands him a pretty small cube, smirking at the Interceptor.

“I’ve finally gotten Barricade-sized cubes for all the lightweights.” He teases, optics momentarily slipping down to Barricade’s not-so-light-anymore frame. 

The Topkick doesn’t comment on it though, and Barricade is grateful for that small mercy. He lifts the cube to his intake, eager for some fuel, because his consumption has gone up lately.  _Maybe he needs a maintenance, a few filters changed?_  Then he gets a whiff of the high grade, and he slams the cube down on the counter, swallowing repeatedly to keep himself from purging.

Ironhide frowns, looking worried. “Are you alright?”

Barricade presses down the lump in his throat before he answers. “Yeah, I just… Ugh, the smell. You don’t happen to have any titanium bars? I swear I could sell my shoulder-wings for a few right now. Usually settles my tank too.”

Ironhide searches his face for long seconds before he nods slowly. “I think I have a packet in the cupboard. Want something to wash them down with?”

“No, it’s fine, thank you.  _Oh!_  If you don’t happen to have any ceramic paste, that would be  _so_  good to smear on them.” Barricade practically moans.

Ironhide makes a face and gags. “Gross! But whatever floats your boat, I guess.” The Weapons specialist says, digging out the requested spread.

_It’s kind of a weird combination actually, especially since Barricade normally hates ceramic paste._ Mentally shrugging, he grabs the packets and heads for the living room where the mechs are gathering. He stops, looking around for where to sit, and arms snake around his midsection. He looks down, recognizing Crosshairs arms.

“Look at  _you!_  Ye’ve really grown into yer platin’. If ye were fluffier, ye’d be like an overly stuffed plushie.” Crosshairs makes an exaggerated purr-growl, servos stroking Barricade’s ventral plating, one slipping down to the Saleen’s hips, another part of his frame that’s getting wider too.

The dam breaks.

It doesn't matter that most of Prime’s mechs are gathered, and a good part of the Cons too, Barricade can’t stop himself from wailing like sparkling.  _Why does everyone point out that he’s getting fat? It isn’t like he doesn’t notice it himself. He can’t help that he craves fuel all the time, rich and potent fuels to boot, and that he can’t exactly exercise indoors. Do they really have to paw at his fat little frame and really rub in how disgusting he is?_

He teeks the alarm in Crosshairs field, the Sniper’s servos hovering awkwardly inches from his plating, and he sees the others staring, but he just can’t stop.

“Oh,  _great,_  the Moody Mustang is here!” Starscream blurts when he enters the living room, rolling his optics. “Damn it, mech, are you ever in a… stable… mood?” The Seeker trails off when he takes the scene in. “Holy crap, you’re so  _fat!"_

That doesn’t improve Barricade’s mood at all, and he cries even harder, intakes hacking with the strain to keep him running properly. Thundercracker slaps Starscream around the back of his helm, hissing something to his Trine leader, to which Starscream just shrugs.

Everything has gone completely quiet, except Barricade’s wailing, everyone gathered staring at the two mechs, Crosshairs still standing awkwardly behind him. Jazz looks frozen, uncertain what to do since they were hardly on speaking terms this morning, and haven’t had time to sort things out. Ironhide is looking at Barricade, heavy gaze scrutinizing the Interceptor, arms crossed over his massive chest, and eventually he’s the one to speak up.

“Barricade, are you carrying?”


	9. Jazz

Fuck, fuck,  _fuck!_

_Actually, that’s why you’re in this mess to begin with, you slut._  Jazz’s processor unhelpfully supplies him.

Every piece of the puzzle is falling into place: Barricade’s weight gain, his mood swings, the way his taste in fuel has suddenly changed.  _Of course Barricade is knocked up, how did he fail to see it?_ Primus damn it, the Decepticon is  _carrying._  Reality falls on him like a stack of oil drums.

The Saleen is carrying  _Jazz’s_  sparkling. 

Well,  _their_  sparkling.  _Frag._  They never talked about something like this, because it’s out of the question.  _Is it even legal? Will the kid be a slave too, or will it be considered a bastard, with less rights, or what? What would happen to him if they get caught, and what would it mean for Barricade and the sparkling? What if he’s imprisoned, and the Saleen and the kid, their kid, is sold off? Bringing a sparkling into this world is just plain stupidity, how could he be so dumb?_

But he wants it, oh, Primus does he want that kid.  _It’s so fucking selfish, and he knows that, but he wants that little family._  But what does Barricade want? The Spy teeks the Decepticon’s field, and it’s a complete void. Barricade has stopped crying, standing completely unmoving, optics bright.  _Probably at least as shocked as he is, trying to process things._

It has to be up to Barricade too, of course. It’s his body, after all, and if it’s a risk for Jazz, then it’s an even bigger risk for the Decepticon.  _The slave who is knocked up and extremely vulnerable._ It’s so easy to forget Barricade’s status, that Jazz is legally his owner, even with reminders every time they leave the apartment. Their relationship feels healthy, equal and genuine, it’s easy to forget how society would look at it. But Jazz wants that sparkling so bad now.  _They’ll make it work, he’ll keep Barricade hidden away until the emergence, and then they can pretend that one of the other Bots is the carrier whenever they leave the house._

But does the Saleen want them to be a family? Jazz has been equally invested in all his lovers, sleeping around. Barricade has been fine with it, but it will probably be different when they’re a proper family. Can Jazz keep to one mech?

_Yeah, he can. He loves all of his lovers, but he’s very much_  in love  _with Barricade, something he hasn’t realized until now._  They really have to have a serious talk about this. He will be disappointed if Barricade doesn’t want the family, but hopefully, he’ll let Jazz have the sparkling even if he choose to not be acknowledged as the carrier.

_But he would be very disappointed if Barricade doesn’t want to have a family with him._


	10. Barricade

_He’s carrying!_

Barricade can’t move, can hardly vent properly.

_There’s a tiny mech growing inside him, and he has never thought about having a sparkling, especially not since his surrender, and suddenly, he has Jazz’s offspring inside him, his owners sparkling! What’s he going to do?_

What will Jazz do to him, to them? Or the other Bots, what will they say about a bastard child? It’s such a risk for all of them, what if they want him to get rid of it? Could he even keep it, would they be safe? He knows what other Bots would do if they got their servos on a Decepticon sparkling. The most logical thing would be to let it go as soon as possible, to have it removed right away.

Creation protection protocols he has been unaware of surges forward, and his plating flares in a display of fearful aggression.  _They’re not going to take his kid!_ So fast his own processor is left reeling, he grabs the closest mech by the throat, his other servo coming up to press the blade he brought for cutting his snacks against Crosshairs’ neck cables. He slowly walks backwards, holding the whimpering Sniper as a living shield in front of him, backing up until his back hits the wall. The Saleen’s spark is spinning so quickly, he’s getting dizzy by the rush of energon through his lines, and he has never been so scared in his entire functioning.

“Don’t you fucking  _dare_  try to take the sparkling from me!” He snarls, voice wavering with his panic and the warning shocks his collar is delivering.

The blade quivers in his servo, and he’s so terrified for what they are going to do to him, they’ll break him open and take his sparkling, and they will punish him for this little stunt, and he will never get to see his sparkling.

Jazz gets up from the couch, slowly reaching into his subspace pockets. “Easy there, Cade. ‘m jus’ gonna put my knives away…” Jazz croons soothingly, pulling three blades of different sizes out of each pocket. 

_It’s a trick, it has to be. Jazz is trying to manipulate him into being more compliant._

“Not one step closer!” Barricade’s snarl is more of a squeak, his voice hitching with fear.

“That’s fine, I’m stayin’ here. I’m emptyin’ my pockets, though. Can ya ease up a li’l on tha pressure against Cross’ neck? Ya’re almost piercin’ his main energon line.”

_He can’t kill the Sniper when nobot is doing anything, that would certainly lead to the sparkling_ _being taken from him, and possibly his deactivation._ Barricade dedicates one process to monitor the force he uses. Jazz is dismounting his guns, at least those he can. Then the Spy slowly walks closer.

Instinctively, Barricade presses the blade harder against soft neck cables, and Crosshairs whines. The Interceptor hears the trickle of liquid, then the acrid smell of waste fluid spreads through the air, and Barricade’s tank roils. He gags before he manages to push the nausea down.

“Easy, there.” Jazz croons, as if talking to a cornered wild animal.

“Don’t take my sparkling from me!” Barricade hisses.

“I won’t.” Jazz says soothingly, inching closer.

“I won’t let them take it either, none of them are going to take it.” He says, punctuating it with pressing harder with the blade.

“They won’t, they’d hafta go through me first.” Jazz growls protectively.

“I’m so scared.” Barricade says, voice hoarse and trembling with sobs threatening to break free.

“I know, babe, I am too. But I’ll take care of ya. Both of ya. I  _promise._  Can ya let Crosshairs go? Ya can take me instead…”

_Can he trust Jazz, or is this a trick? Jazz could easily take him down. On the other servo, Jazz could’ve just shocked him into next week by activating his collar._

Jazz’s field extends, latching onto Barricade’s soothingly. There’s a nudge over the bond, and Barricade opens it, having shut it in his panic.  _Jazz wants it, wants them both._ He can feel the honesty, the love for them, and how Jazz is scared completely shitless by it all, but still determined to protect them. The Interceptor lets go of Crosshairs, the Sniper staggering away, and Jazz is there immediately, strong arms wrapping around Barricade.

“I’ve got ya, babe. I gotcha both.” Jazz murmurs in his audial.

Barricade leans into the embrace, relaxing against his sparkmate’s solid frame while he hears everyone else starting to move again now that he isn’t threatening to slice someone open.

“I, uhm, I peed myself…” Crosshairs mumbles embarrassedly against Ironhide’s chest-plates, wrapped in the Weapons specialist’s massive arms.

“I know. Let’s go get you cleaned up.” Ironhide murmurs, leading the Sniper away. 

“Sorry about that.” Barricade mutters to the Sniper, feeling bad for what he did.

“’s ok.” Crosshairs accepts the apology.

“You,” Ironhide snaps his digits and points at Dreadbot, “clean up the mess on the floor.”

“Eh, how about no?” Dreadbot snarks.

_Seriously?_

Barricade looks at them over Jazz’s shoulder. Ironhide stares at Dreadbot, optics pinned dangerously, the Decepticon squirming under that heavy gaze in a way that has nothing to do with fear, but everything to do with arousal.  _For fucks sake._

“Yes, you  _will._  And I  _will_  address that insolence of yours later. You are going to be punished for that.”

Dreadbot shivers, and his field flares with nervous anticipation and arousal. “Yes, Officer!” He says, saluting the Topkick before he skitters off to get cleaning supplies.

_Really?_

“That’s more like it.” Ironhide shouts approvingly as he leads Crosshairs towards the washracks. “You will still be punished!” Somewhere down the hallway, Dreadbot mewls.

_At least it looks like he won’t be forced to share Jazz’s attention tonight._


	11. Barricade

Barricade is stretched out on the folded down couch in Ironhide’s guestroom, Ratchet hooked up to his systems, scanning him carefully. Servos poke and prod his distended abdomen.

“I can’t believe none of us saw this. I can’t believe that both of you missed the protocols for this either.” Ratchet grumbles.

“I haven’t checked his systems since he started carin’ better for himself.” Jazz defends himself.

“I just didn’t know what they were. I’ve never gone into heat in my functioning, and I didn’t notice it happening.” Barricade mumbles, feeling utterly ignorant.

“You don’t have to go into a heat to get sparked. The heat is just a way for the frame to get things into motion, to make a mech procreate. A sparkmerge combined with interfacing may very well lead to a sparking at any time.” Ratchet explains to him. “I thought those protocols would be disabled, either from the war, or from the slavers.” The medic adds.

“I don’t know if any of the Cons disabled them, or if everyone was just lucky that we didn’t sparkmerge.”

“Primus!” Ratchet looks startled. “So there’s the risk that all Cons might get knocked up if someone sparmerges with them?”

The following silence is heavy when they consider the possibility.

“We hafta look into that. Not that I’m not happy ‘bout this, but the risk for complications is something we really hafta consider carefully.” Jazz says.

Barricade silently agrees. He’s thrilled about their kid, and he wouldn’t want it any other way, but if it started to happen to more mechs, that could be very dangerous.

“Well, everything looks perfectly normal for you, Barricade. You’re halfway through your pregnancy, and both you and the sparklings are completely healthy.” Ratchet says as the scan finishes up.

_What?!_

“Don’cha mean tha sparkling?” Jazz asks.

“No, sparklings. Plural. You’re having twins.”

Barricade manages to hold off the reboot long enough to see Jazz collapse to the floor, Ratchet swearing. Then everything goes black.


	12. Barricade

Ratchet leaves them alone when they’re both fully rebooted, and Jazz fetches fuel for them, Barricade half reclining, propped up on pillows.  _No wonder he’s getting so big, he has two little mechs growing inside him._

Jazz comes back with med grade, spiced up with Barricade’s favorite additives. The Spy sits down next to him, and they sit in silence for a long time, still reeling from the revelations of the day. Dreadbot was more than happy to follow Ironhide into his berthroom to be spanked and fucked, and most of the others dropped off while Ratchet was scanning Barricade, so they get some time to themselves after the check up.

“You wanna keep them.” Jazz says, finally breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Barricade answers quickly, realizing that it isn’t just instinctive carrier protocols. He really wants to have them. “Do you?” He asks, afraid of the answer.

“Yeah. They’re mine too, an’ I want them.”

Barricade exvents in relief. They will be staying, he gets to see them grow up. He wont be forced to have an abortion, or watch them be sold off to someone else.

“How are we goin’ ta play this? We can’t say that they’re yours, even if it turns out that it’s legal ta have sparklings with a slave, they would never be fully safe, or free. We hafta pretend that an Autobot is the carrier.”

It’s like a blow to the stomach.  _He’s going to have his sparklings within reach, but he won’t be anything but the house slave._  Barricade suddenly feels nauseous, the energon he just had burning at the back of his intake.  _He’ll never be anything more than Jazz’s slave._ A sob escapes him, then another, and then he can’t hold it back anymore and he starts crying.

“Hey, now. What’s wrong, Cade?” Jazz says, putting his cube on the table to wrap his arms around the distraught Saleen.

“What’s  _wrong?!_  You get to be a daddy, and I’m just one of the slaves, the toy you take to berth when you’re not occupied by one of your other lovers, and just pretend doesn’t exist when it suits you.” He wails, too crushed to struggle against those comforting arms he doesn’t want to instill false feelings of being treasured,  _loved._

 _“No!_  That’s not at all what I want! I wanna have a family with ya, I want it ta be you, n’ me, n’ tha li’l terrorists growing inside ya. I don’t wanna discard ya as soon as tha’ kids are out, n’ take them from ya! But we hafta be smart, ‘cause that wish is dangerous. We need a plan for what ta show tha world, an keep tha truth hidden.”

What Jazz says is right, but it still stings that he can’t show off his creations to the world. On the other servo, the only ones who matter will still know, because beyond Prime’s crew and their Decepticons, Barricade doesn’t care.

“So, do  _you_  wanna have a family with me? Ta be exclusive with me?”

It isn’t a hard question to answer.

“Yes! Yes, I really want that. But what about your other bondmates?”  _Jazz is bonded to most of his Team. It wouldn’t be right to keep him from them, to cause him pain, even if Barricade really wants to have Jazz all to himself._

“I get to be around them, n’ that’s mostly enough. If I ever need ta strengthen my bonds, I’ll tell ya, n’ ya’ll always get ta join for it. I won’t interface with them, just merge. I don’ wanna cheat on ya, n’ it’ll only be for tha bond’s sake, never just for pleasure. Would ya be fine with that?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” A sparkmerge without interfacing isn’t sexual, more of an embrace of a deeply loved friend, and Barricade wouldn’t keep Jazz from something like that.

_They’re going to be a family._


	13. Barricade

_Jazz is gone._

Not forever, he knows that, but with his mood swings, even such a small thing as Jazz and Prime going away for business can set him off. Barricade curls up on the folded out couch in Ironhide’s office. It’s too much at once, just hours after finding out that he is carrying, that Jazz wants a family with him, and now the mech had to leave him here.

Barricade is exhausted, but he’s too worried to fall into recharge. He’s still scared and worried for the future, and he wants Jazz to come back.

Dreadbot plunks down on the berth and stretches out in front of the Interceptor. If Barricade wasn’t so tired, so upset, he would’ve told the afthelm to leave him alone, and he expects some low blow comment about his planetary size or something like that, but instead, the Microbus’ field nudges against his, a coaxing question for permission to come closer.

He’s too tired to push away, and he accepts the offer. Dreadbot crawls closer, fluffy lavender onesie with rainbow colored trim rubbing against Barricade’s plating when he puts his arm over the Interceptor and curls around him. The softness against him, the warmth of another frame releases something inside Barricade, and he starts sobbing into the ridiculous looking, wonderfully soft fabric covering his annoying room mate.

“No, pork belly, don’t be so sad. You’re going to have a sparkling.” Dreadbot tries to cheer him up, unusually nice for once.  _Well, except for the nickname, but it’s said in such a fond way, Barricade can let it slide._

“Two.” He sobs, burrowing deeper against the other Decepticon.

“’scuse me?”

“Two. I’m going to have twins.”

“Twice as good.” Dreadbot croons.

“I’m scared. What if something happens to them? What if something goes wrong, and everyone gets in trouble? What if we’re found out and they are taken away?” Barricade sobs quietly into Dreadbot’s shoulder.

“Nothing’s going to happen to them. Jazz will make sure of it. He’ll take care of everything, make sure it’ll be alright.” Dreadbot murmurs, pulling Barricade even closer, holding him in a firm embrace.

Barricade sobs quietly, feeling the tension slowly leaving him, until he feels like a wrung out rag, limp and exhausted.

“Feeling better, butter ball?” Dreadbot says, but the comment lacks the usual bite, more a teasing endearment.

“Shut up. You do look ridiculous in that suit.” Barricade’s laugh is choked, but genuine, because his spark does feel lighter.

_The Hippie Van really does look ridiculous in the fuzzy, lavender colored suit. The cuffs are rainbow colored, and on the hood, there’s a glittery unicorn horn._

“I’m not ridiculous, I’m  _fabulous!”_  Dreadbot states with certainty.

“It’s really soft.” Barricade mutters into the fabric.  _It is. Right_ _now, he’s kind of envious. His armor feels tight sometimes, and he has had some chafing. Getting rid of it and slipping into something this soft seems really tempting. He won’t admit that though, not even under duress._

“I know, that’s why I wear them.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence, and Barricade allows himself to relax fully, to take comfort in having Dreadbot there. The other Decepticon starts to pluck with the brackets and cables in Barricade’s shoulder-wings, and it’s so soothing, he feels himself slowly slipping into recharge. The Saleen embraces it, allows it to overtake him, and it doesn’t take long for him to be out cold.

He’s disturbed later, jostled enough to be roused out of recharge, and he onlines two optics blearily to find that Jazz has taken Dreadbot’s place. The Saleen catches a glimpse of the Hippie van as he slips out the door, then he relaxes against Jazz, still halfway into recharge. He feels the soft press of lip-plates against his audial horn, and it makes him smile against Jazz’s chest-plates.

“It’s goin’ ta be alright, honey,” Jazz murmurs, “Now rest. Ya need it.”

Barricade hopes the Spy is right, he really wants to believe it. Wrapped in Jazz’s strong arms, he does feel safe, and it doesn’t take long before he slips into recharge again. 


	14. Barricade

“Cupper crackers! Cupper crackers! My  _shoulder-wings_  for cupper crackers!” Barricade whines dramatically from his spot on the couch, rubbing his swollen abdomen as if he’s starving, and Jazz can’t help but smile when he hears the dramatic demand.

“Ya better not get rid of those wings. I’m very fond of ‘em.” Jazz answers as he swoops by, heading for the refueling room.

“I won’t, but you just have no idea how badly I need those crackers.” Barricade groans.

“Yeah, ya’re right, but I  _do_  know that ya read way too much Shakespeare.” Jazz snickers as he grabs the bag of crackers.

It’s kind of ridiculous, Barricade could get them himself. He is getting rather big though, movements getting heavier, but the real reason Jazz is hurrying to bring him the food is completely selfish on the Spy’s behalf.

_He really likes to feed his sparkmate_. He can’t really put his digit on it, but there’s just something erotic about watching the Interceptor roll his optics in bliss at the taste of the morsels Jazz puts in his mouth, those little nips and licks at his digits to get the last crumbs of whatever snack has caught Barricade’s interest.  _The moans he’s fairly certain Barricade isn’t aware of leaving his vocalizer when he chews the snacks, or lets them melt on his glossa._

Or maybe it’s the way it feels like Barricade is taking care of their little ones, his cravings aligning surprisingly well with what supplements their frames might need for the current stage of development.

In the end, the reason doesn’t matter. Jazz will happily fetch all the bags in the cupboard and feed Barricade all day, even when the Interrogator is fuzzy, wanting one type of snacks, just to get fed up in two bites, wanting something else. Jazz will happily get the next packet to continue the process.

_Maybe he has developed a feeding kink?_


	15. Barricade

It’s awkward, with his new, rotund form. Self service, that is. Usually, he does it in the shower, but lately, standing is increasingly tiresome, and he has some trouble reaching. There’s nothing wrong with his libido, though. On the contrary. Barricade is constantly horny.  _All day, and the increasing time he’s awake at night too._

He can’t bring himself to tell Jazz though, feeling like a big blob, and incredibly unattractive with his widened seams, skinny legs and massive midsection.  _Like a planet on two sticks._

So he has self serviced a lot, and today is not different. Jazz is out, and Dreadbot is at Ironhide’s, and Barricade can finally stretch out on the berth to get fairly comfortable. Laying on his side is one of few positions he can still muster for a longer time. He pulls his knee up towards his belly, and reaches around from the back, his abdomen making it almost impossible to just reach between his legs.

The Mustang is already sopping wet and half charged, as usual, and he slides his digits through his slick folds with a relieved groan.  _Finally an opportunity to really do this. He won’t leave the berth until he has overloaded at least four times._

He’s somewhere close to his second overload, too absorbed by the pleasure to notice when the Solstice steps into the berthroom. Even through his haze, he notices the field that tingles against his, and he turns around, startled.

“Jazz! I… ah…” He trails off, flushing from pede to audial horn.

“Ya’re masturbatin’.” Jazz says, visor so bright, it’s almost white. “Why are ya masturbatin’?”

“I’m horny! My systems… frag, I-I… I’m horny all the time!” He squeaks, realizing he’s still toying with his dripping valve even as they speak, unable to stop himself.

Jazz seems to shake himself out of his stupefied staring, and suddenly he’s on the berth, so quick Barricade’s admittedly hazy processor isn’t able to keep up.

“Can I do it for ya? Can I fuck ya? Please Barricade, would ya let me fuck ya?” Jazz says in a rush, servo hovering above Barricade.

“You  _want_  to?” Barricade asks incredulously.

“Of course!”

“But I’m so big, I have my own weather system.” Barricade whines, feeling utterly unattractive.

“Oh, Cade. Ya’re so hot, my spike is about ta crack my panel.” Jazz murmurs. “So can I.  _Please._  It’s been so long, and I want ya so much.”

_Jazz doesn’t think he’s disgusting. He wants to fuck him. And Barricade craves._

“Yes! Please, Jazz, fuck me!”


	16. Jazz

Jazz knows that Barricade doesn’t feel very attractive as he is right now, but the Spy disagrees.  _The Interceptor is completely irresistible_. It doesn’t matter what Barricade asks for, big or small, Jazz gives it to him. It’s such a blessing in disguise that Barricade is getting so physically tired now that he’s getting bigger, because it makes the Interceptor inclined to accept Jazz’s offers of massages and rubs, and it allows the Solstice to touch him without it becoming something sensitive. It seems like it doesn’t matter how many times he says that Barricade is beautiful, touches are still a reminder that the Saleen is big and it sets Barricade off. But rubs and massages, he doesn’t say no to, and Jazz is careful to not make a big deal out of it.

The best time of the day though, is in the mornings. Normally, Barricade was the early glitchbird, but his new form makes it hard for him to sleep without waking up regularly to change position, and so he tends to sleep in.

Jazz takes full advantage. He likes to cuddle up to his mate, and that’s something Barricade actually doesn’t dislike, or he wouldn’t do it. He presses up against the Saleen’s back, puts his arm over the mech’s midsection, stroking his abdomen.

He could do it all day, but Barricade wouldn’t allow that. He’s so fuzzy about getting his morning energon as quickly as possible. But until he stirs, Jazz isn’t going to move. He flat palms the bulge and strokes it with languorous movements, soothing and nice, almost like a light massage.

That’s when he feels it.  _A bump against his servo._ The Spy freezes for long seconds, then he slips his servo under a plate to feel Barricade’s protoform. Something bumps against his servo again, and he lays there, staring at the back of Barricade’s helm, frozen.

“You should start venting again.” Barricade’s voice is rough with recharge.

“Somethin’ moved in there.”

“Yeah. Felt it the first time last night. Kept me awake for quite a while by nudging my primary waste tank every time I started to fall into recharge.”

“It moved. One of our sparklings moved.” Jazz says again, voice reverent.

“I know, babe.” Barricade mumbles, grabbing his servo to lace their fingers, but leaving it on his belly, field nudging Jazz with acceptance. ”I want to recharge a little more, you keep the kids company.”


	17. Barricade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has squicks against birth, a not very graphic one, skip this chapter.

It happens at home. They had planned it, of course, Barricade wouldn’t be in shape to take a transport, and questions would arise.

One second, they're watching a movie, the next second Jazz is panicking as a thin, oily fluid is leaking out of Barricade at an alarming rate. The Spy comms Ratchet, and the medic is en route in a matter of seconds.

Barricade is heading for their berthroom, the room he has chosen for this, but he doesn’t make it more than a few strides before a contraction hits. He sinks to his knees, curling up around the pain that is like nothing he has ever experienced. _It feels like his frame is trying to turn inside out._

“Cade, are ya ok?” Jazz almost shouts, field rattling with the closest thing to terror Barricade has ever felt from the Spy.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic.” He hisses between gritted denta.

“What can I do? Tell me what ta do.” Jazz says pleadingly.

“Just get the berth done. I think this is normal, and I’ll come in there when the contraction is over.”

Jazz hurries off to get the fluid proof sheets on the berth, and the pillow that’ll support Barricade through this, leaving the Saleen to ride out the wave by himself.  _Just like he asked, Jazz isn’t abandoning him._

It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually, the contractions subside, and Barricade hurries into the berthroom, crawling on top of the berth. It feels strange to just leave the puddle of fluid that has leaked out of him on the floor, but if he starts to clean it up right now, he might not make it to the berth for the next contraction.

He stretches out on his back, and Jazz climbs up to stretch out next to him, hugging him close.

“It’s goin’ ta be ok.” Jazz murmurs, and Barricade suspects that it is as much for the Spy himself as for Barricade’s benefit.

“It’s me.” Ratchet calls out from the hallway, given instant entrance by Jazz for an occasion like this.

“We’re in the berthroom.” Jazz calls back.

The medic steps into the room a few seconds later, giving a brief nod as a greeting before sinking down to check on Barricade. The Interceptor spreads his legs and allows Ratchet to slip a digit inside to palpate, and he feels the tingle of a scan.

“This is rather fast, you’re already pretty open. That’s a good sign.”

The next contraction hits, and Barricade can’t disagree more.  _This is not going nearly fast enough._ He curls up, wailing out the pain.

“Put the effort of screaming into pushing instead.” Ratchet instructs him.

“Have  _you_  ever done this?” Barricade growls.

“No, I haven’t.” Ratchet says. “But I do know the mechanisms behind how they’re being expelled by your frame.”

“Fuck  _that,_  you don’t know jack shit about how this feels then.” Barricade hisses.

“Be nice.” Jazz chides him, gently kissing his helm.

“Nice?  _Nice?!_  Well, fuck you too! This is all your fault!” Barricade snarls at Jazz. “Fuck off.”

Jazz starts to leave the berth, and Barricade panics. “What, are you  _leaving_  me right _now,_ you slagging  _bastard?!”_  He sobs, bracing himself for the next contraction as he feels it coming on.

“I thought you wanted me to…” Jazz says uncertainly.

_“No!_  I didn’t want you to  _go,_  I just…” Then whatever he was supposed to say turns into an incoherent scream as the next contraction hits.

Barricade tries his best to push instead of screaming, and even if he isn’t quite successful, it still works better than the first attempt.

“You’re doing so well, Barricade, I think the first one won't take much more.” Ratchet encourages him.

“Well, it’s taking enough, dammit.” Barricade grinds out.

“You should consider yourself lucky. If it had been just one, it might’ve been bigger instead. Or you could’ve been human. Their labors are often very drawn out and painful compared to ours.” Ratchet says dryly, ignoring how sour the Saleen is.

“Come back and tell me how fragging  _lucky_  I am when you’ve had one yourself…”

“At least the next one should be easier, your frame is more ready.”

“Fuck that, I’m not ready for another one after this.” Barricade pants, resting for just seconds before he tries pushing again.

Jazz chuckles beside him, and Barricade glares at him.

“What? You don’t know how this feels.” Barricade mutters.

“No, I just think it’s amusing that you swear more than Ratchet.”

In another setting, later on, when everything is over, Barricade will find it amusing too. Right now though, he just makes a grimace and takes a deep vent, gearing up for the next push.

_It does the trick_. It’s a very weird sensation when the little mech slides out of him, the pressure finally released, and Barricade lets his helm fall back, feeling completely spent. He knows that there’s another one who’ll want to make an entrance into the world soon, but he needs to rest what little he can, so he allows his frame to relax as Ratchet is cleaning up the newspark, handing it to Jazz.

The Spy comes over to Barricade showing him the tiniest, cutest little thing he has ever seen in his functioning.

Then another contraction hits, and Barricade gets other things to focus on.


	18. Barricade

The others left them alone for all of a day, then mechs started to poke their curious helms through the door. Barricade is still tired, and they’re both overwhelmed with all the changes in the routines, but he just couldn’t be happier, even if the sparklings have a tendency to stay awake in shifts. 

_Little slaggers, they’re going to be a heap of trouble when they’re younglings They’ll fit right in with the mechs that surround them, come to think of it._

First through the door was Optimus of course, giving a birth ritual to the little ones. Barricade could swear he could see the presence of Primus in the big mech’s smile, and the sparklings were quiet and happy to be held by the Prime.

His Seekers came along too, Thundercracker saying that no Seeker ever has been able to resist newsparks. Starscream was civil for once, pretending not to be enamored with the sparklings and failing miserably at it.

Barricade leans into his mate, watching as their extended family mingles around in their home, taking turns holding the sparklings, and he knows they made the right decision.  _They’re a real family._

“Come here, little one, Uncle Dreadbot is going to teach you everything he can.” The Hippie van croons, taking one of the twins from the careful grasp of Sideswipe.

_Uncle Dreadbot?!_  Barricade stares at his room mate, carefully holding the tiny sparkling against his chest. His ever-present onesie, baby pink this time, makes him look like a stuffed animal holding the baby, and it’s ridiculously cute.  _Who would’ve guessed that the afthelm would be such a complete doll with sparklings._

“That has to be a quick lesson.” Crosshairs snarks.

“Shut up.” Dreadbot sticks his tongue out.

“Yeah, yeah. Lemme see.” Crosshairs waves him off and steps up to the Decepticon, peering at the little mech in his arms.

“None of you know anything that’s fitting to teach a child. They have to be at least into their last frame before adulthood before you teach anyone anything, you good-for-nothings.” Ironhide rumbles.

Barricade stiffens. Oh, hell!  _He didn’t think about their younglinghood._ The Saleen bristles instinctively. Jazz glances at him, catching the way his armor flares.

::What’s up, sweetie?:: He comms Barricade, the Saleen having short-range comms back after the pregnancy.

::Just thinking about when they’re starting to come of age. You know, the trying high grade, when they start to get curious about…  _stuff._ ::

Jazz stiffens next to him, his armor flaring too as his creator protocols starts up. ::They’ll be virgins for tha rest of their functioning. Those li’l angels won’t want ta do stuff like that.:: The Spy says with a certainty that can be nothing but parental denial of reality.

Barricade pulls him closer, wrapping his arm around Jazz’s waist.  _This family thing is going to be one hell of a ride for them both, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything._


	19. Barricade

It’s incredibly frustrating that Barricade can’t just take their kids and go outside when the weather is nice. They need a little sun and fresh air. Their plan to say that the kids are Autobots was half cooked at best.

Writing Crosshairs as the carrier of the sparklings was the easy part, nobot had a reason to suspect anything else. Jazz and Crosshairs has taken them outside for several occasions, to keep them healthy, leaving Barricade safely at home. So far, it’s all good.

But the little ones are growing quickly, and their vocal protocols might start to come online soon, and as much as Barricade wants them to call him carrier, it’s impossible. The sparklings won’t understand the difference of who to call carrier in the home and in public, so they will have to be kept in the dark about it until they are older.  _When they have already imprinted on Crosshairs as their carrier._

And then there’s that even more distasteful detail that they will have to believe that Barricade is a slave, just like other slaves they see, so Jazz will be forced to treat him like one even at home. A slip up where they say to a friend’s parent that Barricade closes his panel at home, and sleeps in Jazz’s berth could be their downfall. Not to mention those who’d frown on him interacting with the sparklings. Some may get the wrong idea entirely, if they were to go to pre-school and blurt, in that innocent way sparklings does, that they snuggle with him, and that he does everyday stuff with them, like bathing them. 

Soon he can’t do any of that, not if he wants them all to be safe. It’s sparkbreaking, but he will do it for his family.

_And how disgusting won’t it be when they are older, and they know the truth, and every time they all go somewhere together, their carrier will be paraded around half naked, with a leash around his neck._

Thinking about it is like one of Jazz’s blades through his chest-plates, and Barricade starts to sob quietly, hugging himself where he stands looking out the window.

“Hey babe, what are ya thinkin’ ‘bout that has ya so sad?” Jazz murmurs from the doorway. 

Barricade jumps, not having heard the Spy coming in.  _He kept his field in, how does Jazz know?_ Then he remembers their bond.

“Just the little ones. How I have to pretend to just be a slave just to keep us all safe. How we won’t be able to do this much longer.”

Jazz comes up to him and wraps his arms around the Mustang. “Don’t, babe. Don’t think about it, don’t be sad. I’m gonna make it right. I hafta make it right.”

Barricade turns to wrap his arms around Jazz. ”Please don’t do anything stupid.” He whispers into Jazz’s plating.


	20. Barricade

“Our problems are solved.” Jazz says cheerily, breezing into the refueling room

Barricade turns to look at him questioningly.

“Ya know, tha issues society has with our family. I refuse ta call it  _our_ family issues, because it’s their issues.”

Barricade doesn’t say anything, waiting to see if Jazz has a point with his little rant.

“Anyway, we’re movin’.”

“Moving?”  _Where would they go? It’s not like there’s another city state, where there’s no slavery and he will be a free mech._

“Earth. We’ve been granted asylum as refugees.”

Barricade’s processor stalls, and his spark hiccups.

“Optimus batted his eyelashes, n’ so did Starscream, n’ obviously, tha combined charms of those two was enough ta convince tha authorities.”

_They’re moving to Earth. He will be a free mech again._

“If ya wanna?” Jazz says uncertainly, because Barricade has gone blank, both field, and bond, as well as facial expression.

“Yes! Yes! I want it, I want it so much! I love Earth, and I love you, and I love the sparklings, and I just want us to be a real family!” Barricade shouts, jumping at Jazz.

The Spy catches him, splaying his servos on the Interceptors aft, spinning around in joy.

“Put me down on the table” Barricade says, and Jazz does as much. “And I want you…” The Saleen’s voice is a sultry purr, and he snaps his panel open, valve-lips puffy with budding arousal, pushing Jazz closer with his pedes on the Spy’s aft.

“The sparklings…” Jazz murmurs, staring at the inviting valve presented.

“In recharge, probably for another hour, but there’s no telling, so you better be fast.”

“Vixen.” Jazz growls playfully, catching the Interceptor’s intake in an urgent kiss as he slides into him.


	21. Barricade

They’ve been on Earth a couple of years by now, and their little family has settled well. The sparklings have made friends among the humans, their extended family has settled in well too. Drift is carrying Blackout’s sparkling, but they’re not exclusive like Jazz and Barricade, so that kid is going to have a whole bunch of daddies in Ironhide’s harem. Ratchet has proven to be highly fertile, if the pregnancy-count among the Structies is anything to go by.

Barricade couldn’t be happier. His frame is restored, he is a free mech, and he has his friends and family. No more war, no more slavery.

They’re at Ratchet’s for a check-up, just routine, when Ratchet stops the scan he’s performing on Jazz and starts over again. Barricade doesn’t think much about it, the Medic is meticulous if nothing else.

Hook comes in, and Ratchet hands him a data pad.

“What, you mean this?” The Constructicon says out loud.

“Yes, and the fourth, and the fifty seventh reading.” Ratchet answers.

“I think you’re right. Have you done a deep scan?”

“Doing as we speak.”

“What? What is it?” Barricade asks, suddenly anxious.  _What if something is wrong with Jazz?_

“Hang on, we want to be sure.” Hook says.

Ratchet takes the data pad, and swipes at it before showing it to the other Medic again.

“Yep, no doubt.”

Ratchet turns to them, and Barricade swears that he’s looking smug when he makes optic contact with the Saleen. “Congratulations, Barricade. You’re going to be a Sire.”

Barricade feels his jaw hanging open. He works his intake, but nothing comes out. Then everything goes black.


End file.
